


Protocol: Permission Granted

by wordywarrior



Series: "What's Your Fantasy?" Series [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, F/M, Protective Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-19 06:10:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18131969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordywarrior/pseuds/wordywarrior
Summary: Part 7 of a series entitled, “What’s Your Fantasy?”





	Protocol: Permission Granted

 

[ ](https://imgur.com/TJkedwM)

Y/N glanced out the window for the umpteenth time and sighed. She should’ve gone to bed long ago, but her mind was too preoccupied to sleep. She’d tried reading, and even though the book was one of her favorites, it didn’t hold her attention. She switched gears, thinking a television show or a movie would distract her, but it didn’t.

There had been a network breach in the lab, and they were still trying to find out if anything was missing, or if any personnel information had been compromised. As a precaution, she was made to hunker down in a safe-house, where communication was strictly limited and details regarding the investigation were compartmentalized.

The first week hadn’t been too bad – it almost felt like a vacation. The studio apartment was secure and stocked with everything anyone who was living in a bubble could want. The second week proved to be a bit harder, but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. Now, nearly a month in, the novelty had worn off entirely. Y/N was lonely and climbing the walls, but there was nothing she could do about it.

Another glance out the window revealed more of the same, drab scenery and again, her mind churned. She wondered where he was, what he was doing, and if he was okay. Y/N woke up thinking of him and went to bed thinking of him, but it wasn’t just worry that made her stomach ache all the time.

As a scientist, she knew what was up, and it all broke down to a chemical release of norepinephrine, dopamine, and serotonin. Y/N had been pumped full of that cocktail, but the pure oxytocin and vasopressin – those two brain-chemicals were the worst, and the absence of the person responsible for creating them was mentally, physically, and emotionally painful. It was like being an addict who had been forced to quit cold turkey. The analogy was absurd, but apt.

Putting it plainly, she didn’t just crave him, she loved him, but loving him didn’t stop her from being rip-shit pissed at him. No calls, texts, or emails -- all under the guise of “keeping her safe.” Others had broken the rules, even snuck in to visit, but not him; he actually followed orders, checked in very sporadically, and solely communicated via com.

Giving up on distracting herself, Y/N turned away from the window, and headed to the kitchenette. The liberal glass of bourbon she poured wasn’t really wise or top-shelf, but it would get the job done, and help her sleep. After confirming the alarm was set, she closed the curtains, and hit the showers with mind-numbing-juice in hand. It didn’t take long for a pleasant buzz to kick in, and after getting cleaned up and donning pajamas, Y/N was finally relaxed enough to go to bed.

She’d been out for a couple hours when her cellphone rang. It was reserved only for emergencies, and after a rather panicked scramble, she retrieved it from the nightstand drawer, and answered it without even glancing at the number. The first thing that rushed out of her mouth was a frantic ‘what happened?’ and the response she received was not at all the one she expected.

_“Salve, caritate.”_

Just hearing Bucky’s voice made her heart pound and her skin erupt with goosebumps. The flood of emotion was heady -- far more potent than the drink -- and the urge to blurt out how much she missed him was strong, but she tempered it. Instead, Y/N closed her eyes, fought her booze, addle-brained feelings, and forced herself to remain calm.

“I’m on my way to you,” he stated lowly.

“Are you picking me up to take me home?”

“No.”

“Then, why are you bothering?” she asked, proud that her voice didn’t shake or crack.

“Because keeping an eye out isn’t enough anymore.”

His words made her heart beat faster, but she kept her cool, “You won’t visit, but you’ve been watching?”

“Observing,” Bucky replied succinctly.

“Prowling,” she retorted.

“Semantics.”

At least a half-dozen cameras monitored the exterior every second of the day. If there had been any movement within three feet of the door, an alarm would have been triggered, which she had to personally disengage via finger-print and voice command. In the event unwanted person or persons somehow managed to get inside, she’d been instructed not to fight. Though Y/N had a weapon and was trained to use it, she’d been ordered to arm herself, but retreat to the panic room that had been built into the closet, and wait until backup arrived.

Clearly, these measures had not been good enough for Bucky, but instead of just wondering how often and how closely he’d been “observing,” she decided to seek the truth for herself.

Y/N retrieved the remote, turned on the television, and brought up the feed. As she continued to go back further, she noticed a car appeared at least three times per week, but the passenger never got out, and the vehicle never popped up on the same day or time. Closer inspection showed plate changes and paint jobs, but the make and model remained constant, and so did the cracked, front passenger window. He bent the rules, but didn’t technically break them, and that explained everything and yet, nothing at all.

“It’s official,” Y/N quipped sarcastically as she turned the TV off. “You’re a stalker.”

“Would you rather someone else watch over you?”

That statement only served to compound her anger. Y/N snarled that she didn’t need a babysitter, and if he wanted to know how she was doing, he should have called, or stopped in to see her himself. She followed up the one-two punch by telling him to go back home. Her curt words hung in the air for a long time, and when the silence stretched into uncomfortable territory, Y/N bit out a harsh ‘goodnight,’ and hung up.

Riled up again, she tossed and turned for a while before getting up, and heading back to the kitchen. Another drink was definitely in order, and she’d just polished off a shot when she heard the deadbolt turn. Only a handful of people had the code and the alarm hadn’t been tripped, which meant someone was breaking the rules again, or Bucky had chosen to ignore her.

Since Bucky suddenly seemed to be a stickler, Y/N hoped the unannounced visitor was Natasha, because she desperately needed someone to vent to. However, when she turned around, it was Bucky who was locking the door and re-setting the alarm.

Y/N watched with narrowed eyes as he removed his shoes and jacket, disarmed, and placed his weapons on the small dining table. He was dressed down, wearing a black t-shirt and jeans, and his actions indicated he planned on staying. The sight of him taking a seat on the bed made her knees knock, and though she itched to go to him, she didn’t. She refused to be the one who broke first, so, she remained where she was, and waited.

“Y/N, _caritate_ ,” he commanded, crooking his finger.

While she couldn’t see his face very clearly in the dark, Y/N knew he could see hers just fine, and when she raised her chin in defiance, Bucky let out a sound that came across as both carnal and impatient. He sat forward, but instead of repeating the demand, he changed tactics, held out a hand, and huskily requested for her to come to him.

Y/N deposited the glass in the sink and crossed her arms over her chest; it wasn’t until he said ‘please’ that she stepped toward him, and each ‘closer, please,’ shortened the distance. When she finally stood between his parted knees, he reached for her. Bucky didn’t have to put forth much effort to pull her arms apart, and as soon as her hands were enveloped in his, he brought them to his mouth, and kissed each palm and fingertip in turn.

When he tipped his head up and she looked into his eyes, the ire drifted away. Bucky’s actions and vulnerable gaze conveyed so much more than words; he didn’t have to say ‘I’m sorry,’ or ‘I missed you,’ or ‘We’re leaving together in the morning.’ The understanding and forgiveness went unspoken, and when he straightened up, she leaned down, and met him halfway.

Lips connected gently in apology, parted, and came back together soothed. Reconnected with more urgency and reignited all that had always been and would be. When Y/N leaned in to him, Bucky seized her hips, and lifted her from the floor. Straddled over his lap, she brushed the tip of her tongue against his, and his chase and capture of her mouth heightened sensation and senses. The groan of his pleasure when she rocked into him; soft skin that complimented hard muscle; the faint scent of leather and the way he looked when she pulled away, both relaxed and intense and full of implicit emotion…

When the words ‘I love you,’ were whispered against her lips, she shuddered, and said it back just as breathlessly. The t-shirt she wore was pushed up and over her head, but Bucky didn’t look away from her or even glance at the flesh revealed. Instead, his palms gripped her backside, and in one, fluid movement, she was on her back, and pressed down hard against the mattress.

The slightest tug unfurled the bow tied below her naval, and once it was undone, Bucky rose to his knees, gathered the waistbands of both pants and panties in hand, and pulled the fabric down and away. His eyes devoured what he’d unwrapped and she was powerless to stop the warmth that bloomed under every flicker of his stare over her naked skin.

Y/N could feel the bridled strength of his hands as they moved up and around her calves, shins, and knees. His touch made her body hum, and after he removed his own shirt and tossed it aside, he danced his fingertips across her forehead, down the bridge of her nose, and over her neck, chest, and breasts. Feather-light, teasing brushes had her breathing hard and straining to get closer. The more her body called to him, the hungrier his eyes became, until there was nothing more left than a thin, bright, hotter-than-hell blue iris around the deep, dark, greedily dilated pupil.

Bucky nudged her legs apart with his hips, and branded her with scorching, deliberate, open-mouthed kisses and nips that trailed from throat to inner-thigh. Bits of the sheet were twisted in her hands, and when the pad of his thumb pressed every-so-slightly against the most tender, aching of her, it wrung a whimper from her throat.

“I missed the way you taste.”

Bucky’s voice was guttural and there was no mistaking his purpose. The sight of him flicking his tongue across his thumb and then sucking it into his mouth caused the heat that had pooled between her legs to become an inferno. He was unyielding and unrepentant, mouth more ravenous than his eyes, and each time she cried out his name, the more ardent he became.

Incoherent and writhing with pleasure, she begged. Voice raw and body wrecked, she beseeched. Hands scrambling and tangling in his hair, she implored. Each denied request came with a consolation prize in the form of another orgasm, and the only thing that kept her from escape was his forearm pinning her down. Before each release, her body would scream its’ conflict; too much, and then, not enough, and when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, Bucky demonstrated she could, and brought her again.

Burning, beyond drenched, well-past satiated, and yet, far from satisfied. Clawing need, razor-sharp and insistent, had taken over, and her muddled brain and over-wrought body made her desperate.

“James, please…”

It could have been the way her voice trembled when she said his name, or the firm tug she gave to his hair, perhaps even the way she said ‘please,’ but Y/N got his attention. Electric blue eyes, downcast with intent, suddenly fluttered upward, and then, focused with alacrity. A slow, purposeful crawl over her body and an even more decisive kiss. Her busy hands, working open his jeans, getting them down just far enough. Bucky’s lips against her ear, voice sandpaper rough with heady words of further intent.

“You want to feel it tomorrow?”

A sharp bite to her neck and Y/N yelped, “Yes.”

“And the day after?” he growled.

Frantic nod, punctuated by a bruising kiss and a deep, hard, steal-the-breath-from-your-lungs thrust. A repetitive retreat and snap forward that said she was his; his for the taking, for the worshipping, for the guarding. A roll and grind that reiterated what they had was real, he didn’t give a flying fuck about the rules -- never did -- and would break them all to have her. A maneuver that placed her on top, above, and higher, not so that she could work, but so that he could take in the scenery, and fill his vision with the glaring, unshakable reality of the spoken and unspoken, the carnal and cerebral, the wicked and the unadulterated.

A particular stroke and it all unraveled; hoarse curses and blissed-out sounds echoing in the small space. The end of an exhilarating dance that was known by heart, but never got old. Shaking, wrapped up in each other, delicate, tender kisses and touches exchanged; a cherishment that concluded the passion.

Sometime later, Bucky’s com chirped. After some digging around beneath the blanket, he managed to retrieve his jeans, and popped the communication device in his ear.

“Yeah?” he yawned as he stretched back out on the bed next to her.

Y/N pulled the sheet tight across her body and frowned. She couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation and didn’t want to. Bucky also conveyed annoyance, but less than sixty seconds later, the com was disengaged, and put away again.

“What is it?” Y/N prompted.

“Lockdown is over,” he replied, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder.

“Oh, so, you have permission to be here now, huh?”

Bucky grinned and yanked the sheet away, “Yours is the only permission I need, _caritate_. Do I have it?”

She sighed against his lips and tucked a wayward chunk of his hair behind his ear, “Granted.”


End file.
